


Officer Silver Fox

by sadlikeknives



Series: Crescent City Witchers [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Established Relationship, M/M, Mardi Gras, New Orleans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22456744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlikeknives/pseuds/sadlikeknives
Summary: If Geralt can get through Mardi Gras without a tourist successfully giving his horse alcohol, he swears he's going to take his boyfriend on vacation.Or, the New Orleans AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Crescent City Witchers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638643
Comments: 5
Kudos: 186





	Officer Silver Fox

**Author's Note:**

> ...IDEK. I don't live in New Orleans. I have never lived in New Orleans. I have spent quite a bit of time in New Orleans, but I've never actually been to Mardi Gras. I'm just a weird New Orleans fangirl. Just go with it. Happy Mardi Gras!

If they were allowed to call in sick—and if Geralt ever got sick, which he didn't; Captain Riannon would have seen right through him—Geralt would have called in sick today. He would have called in sick all week. He would have taken the vacation time he never takes and taken Jaskier somewhere warm—well, New Orleans wasn't ever exactly frigid, but Jaskier had been talking about getting away to the beach all winter—and _quiet_. Peaceful. But if you were in the NOPD and you wanted to take time off this time of year, you'd better be able to prove that you were actively dying, and there was no peace to be had until Lent.

Most of the year, this wasn't their job. Well, for his sins, it was Geralt's job, but he had the detective's exam coming up and high hopes of escaping to a department where he could hunt the monsters who preyed on innocent people, instead of herding drunk tourists. He'd miss Roach, but she was nearing retirement age anyway; the department would probably let him buy her. But Jaskier, most of the time, worked in...tourist outreach or something. Social media. Geralt honestly didn't pay attention when he talked about it most of the time, because he loved Jaskier but the man could have done 'talking' as an Olympic sport, but it meant he had a little cubicle in the French Quarter station on Royal Street and only rarely had to put back on a uniform and hit the streets.

Mardi Gras was always part of the rarely.

He had been headed back to Bourbon from taking Roach for a water break when two masked women in flower headdresses had waved Geralt over near the intersection of Chartres and Conti to ask him a question, and the one with the daiquiri in a novelty cup had gotten as far as, "Hey, do you know why--" when her companion had asked Geralt why his hair was so white, was he _old_? Geralt was used to the questions. When you started going grey as a teenager and were fully white by thirty, you had to be, and he'd even workshopped tourist-friendly answers with Jaskier, since his natural response of, 'Fuck off, my hair is none of your business,' had apparently gotten complaints. But he hadn't gotten a chance to answer her, because the next thing he knew her friend had shoved her go-cup toward Roach's nose and said, "Here, horsie, want a drink?" That was about when Jaskier had hurried over, and here they were. 

"Miss," Jaskier was saying. "Miss, I really must insist--"

"I just want to give her a little drink," the woman Jaskier was trying too politely to restrain insisted, extending her daiquiri once more toward Roach's face. Roach threw her head back and rolled one eye toward Geralt as if to say, _Can you believe this shit?_ Geralt could, unfortunately, believe this shit. This was not his first rodeo. Two years ago, late on Sunday night, a man had vomited all over Roach's left flank--and, therefore, Geralt's left leg and part of the saddle. The officer on foot who'd come to haul the guy to the drunk tank, since if he was intoxicated enough to vomit on a police horse he was too intoxicated to remain on the streets, had looked wearily at Geralt and said nothing, because there was really nothing to say. This year, he'd made it to 8 PM on Tuesday without being puked on, and the crowds were starting to wind down, all partied out. He thought they just might make it, if this situation didn't go south.

"Miss," Geralt said in his best don't-fuck-with-me voice, the one Jaskier couldn't do to save his life, pulling back on the reins to signal Roach to back up a step or two, trying to edge away from this situation, "if you persist in attempting to give alcohol to a police horse, my partner will have to place you under arrest."

"He looks thirsty," the woman protested again, and Geralt bit his tongue against pointing out Roach was a mare; watched Jaskier open his own mouth to do just that and then, for once, think better of saying something. "I'm _helping!_ "

"Your horse will arrest us?" the other woman asked, and started laughing like this was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. She fell against Jaskier's shoulder, and he let her do so and slide down toward the (frankly disgusting) sidewalk. Jaskier was usually more gallant than that, but even he had his limits.

"I meant _Officer Pankratz_ , miss."

Geralt looked at Jaskier, who looked back at him, fond, at the slip. Jaskier wasn't his partner in the police department, no, but in every other sense of the word. He just happened to be in the right place at the right time in this case. Roach tossed her head, swished her tail, and stomped one foot, and their shared glance became one of alarm. No one ever wanted the half-ton equine to get _done_ , especially not in the middle of a crowd, when she was supposed to be part of the crowd control. "Easy, girl," Geralt murmured.

A woman in black, with a black lace mask, shoved through the crowd then, her body language one hundred percent 'I have just realized my drunk friends are doing a stupid thing,' and said, "Okay, Triss, Sabrina, it's time to stop bothering the nice police officer and his nice horse," as she hauled the one without a daiquiri the rest of the way to her feet. She seemed less drunk than the other two. This was a promising development.

"I just wanted to give her a drink!"

"I don't think horses like daiquiris, Triss." Black Mask looked up at Geralt briefly, apologetically. The purple contacts, he thought, were a nice touch.

"Although it was a very kind impulse," Jaskier assured Triss as he helped the woman in black shepherd her friends along the sidewalk.

One of them—Sabrina, he thought—called, "Bye, Officer Silver Fox! Bye, horsie!" over her shoulder.

Geralt heard the Triss one protesting that she never did get to ask her question, and Jaskier, kind soul that he was, asked if they needed directions somewhere, but the one in black assured him she had it covered. Once they were well on their way, he came back to Geralt and ran one hand down Roach's neck. She turned her head to lip at his collar. "Hey, girl," he said softly to her, and to Geralt, "'Officer Silver Fox.'" Geralt just snorted and pretended not to notice Jaskier slipping a peppermint out of his pocket and to his horse. "That's very good. I might use that on social media."

"Do you _want_ to sleep on the couch?"

Jaskier ignored that. He knew Geralt well enough by now to know that he'd never dare to make him sleep on the couch. "It'll be over at midnight," he said. "Four more hours."

It wouldn't be over at midnight. They had to sweep Bourbon Street at midnight telling the stragglers to go home (granted, this was Geralt's favorite part of the entire affair), and then Jaskier had to do paperwork while Geralt took Roach back to the barn, and then _he_ had to do paperwork. He'd be lucky to see his bed before sunrise. But they had tomorrow off, so they could sleep straight through if they wanted to, and with all the overtime, their next paychecks were going to be absolutely amazing. "Hmm," he said. "Next year we're taking a vacation."

"They'll never give us vacation over Mardi Gras, Geralt, be reasonable."

No. Even if he'd made detective by then, he would probably be back in uniform and back on Roach. Every warm body counted during Carnival, and crowd control was critical. "After Mardi Gras," he said. "When it's Lent and the drunk people go home. We'll go to the beach."

"Promise?"

"I'll give up a week of work for Lent."

Jaskier snickered and patted Roach's shoulder one more time, then stepped back onto the sidewalk as their radios crackled, requesting backup on Royal Street for a fight that had broken out over some beads. "I'll hold you to that. Now off you go, Officer deRivia."

"Don't eat all the leftover king cake before I get home," Geralt called after him.

"I make no promises!"

From this vantage point, Geralt could watch him among the crowd until he turned right onto Conti. "All right, girl," he told Roach, turning her back toward Bourbon Street. "Once more unto the breach."

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have zero knowledge of police procedure except for occasionally watching Law & Order, so any resemblance to the workings of the real NOPD is purely coincidental.


End file.
